


What Isn't Being Said

by rogue_pixie88



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:42:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogue_pixie88/pseuds/rogue_pixie88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen wants to live with Jared, Jared wants to live with Jensen—that’s not the problem. The problem is communicating that fact to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Isn't Being Said

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: veggie17
> 
> Disclaimer: The story is mine, their names and faces are not.

Jensen wakes up to an annoying ray of morning sun creeping through the gap in the curtains, shining right into his eyes. He peers through his lashes, and then closes his lids abruptly; the glare of light is too much to deal with so early. He pushes his face further into his pillow, wishing that he owned a business that didn’t involve waking up so early. Why hadn’t he considered having to function at such a time when he opened his coffee shop?

Burrowing deeper into his bedding, he takes notice of the conspicuous absence of the arms he fell asleep wrapped in, the legs that lay tangled with his most of the night, and the hot exhale of air that ruffled the fine hairs of his nape. Groggily, he stretches a hand out with the poor co-ordination that follows too much sleep, fingers searching for Jared. All he’s met with is cool, empty sheets and a dent in the pillow beside him.

A clatter of plates followed by an off-key rendition of a cheesy pop song tells Jensen where Jared has chosen to be instead of warm and asleep in bed with him. With a groan, he slides out from the comforter, plants his feet firmly on the floor and rises as fluidly as possible. He then staggers from the room, deftly navigating around the pile of clothes—Jared’s, the slob; Jensen’s were added to the laundry pile last night—into the hall, and the small kitchen beyond it.

Jared is his usual chipper morning self, still singing as he adds the finishing touches to the spread on the table, setting the cutlery with an exaggerated flourish more fitting of a classy restaurant rather than wasted in Jensen’s little kitchen. He’s hit with a sudden and inappropriate flash of envy that Jared looks so perfect when he wakes up, alert and totally ready for the day, while Jensen’s lucky enough to stumble around looking like a zombie, mussy-haired with a cheek full of pillow creases, often cursing the alarm clock for existing until after downing at least two cups of strong coffee. It’s hardly fair.

However, Jared quickly quells the negative emotion. Even though Jensen looks like an extra from a trashy horror movie, Jared still looks at him as if he’s the most gorgeous creature ever.

“Morning, Jen,” he grins, nudging a chair out from under the table with a flick of his bare foot. “You sleep okay?”

“You should know. What are you, part octopus? Arms and legs everywhere.” The reply lacks the necessary bite to make it a complaint, but even if it were, Jared wouldn’t believe it for a second.

Jensen takes his seat, and isn’t fast enough to duck out from the kiss Jared drops on his forehead. Unsatisfied with his greeting, Jensen hauls him back by the collar of the sleeveless tee he slept in, fastening their mouths together in a lazy morning rhythm of hands and tongues. They kiss languidly until Jensen pulls back, slightly breathless. “Better.”

“Mmm, much. You know you love my octopus arms. Besides, you sleep better when we share a bed.”

Jensen downs half a glass of orange juice, sad that it overwhelms the taste of Jared clinging to his lips and tongue, and reaches for a piece of toast. “What makes you say that?”

“Those black circles under your eyes don’t seem quite so bad when I stay over.” Jensen’s touched by Jared’s concern, touched that he pays attention to such insignificant details. “And you don’t scare Beetle as much when those circles are gone.”

He’d started off nicely, at least.

At the mention of her name, Beetle, Jensen’s cat—so named by his best friend’s little girl because of the animal’s small size—wanders over and wraps herself around Jensen’s ankle. Her fur tickles his bare flesh, and Jensen only puts up with it because she rarely shows him such affection, preferring instead to cosy up to anyone else who happens to be in the apartment at the time.

“Told you,” Jared mumbles in as much of an irritating sing-song tone he can manage around a mouthful of cereal.

Jensen bites the last soft part of his toast and, rather childishly, lobs the crunchy crust at Jared’s forehead, laughing when it bounces off and lands in his bowl with a muted _splash_. “Shut up, smartass.” Jared merely rolls his eyes and fishes out the offending food.

They finish their breakfast in companionable silence, catching each other’s gaze over the rims of cups and spoonfuls of mushy cereal every few minutes to simply share a smile in a ridiculously sappy fashion. When Jared gets up to wash his bowl along with Jensen’s empty plate, Jensen’s suddenly struck with how domestic it all seems.

It’s not the first time Jared’s stayed over—far from it. Nine months down the line, they’ve spent plenty of time at the others’ place—mostly Jensen’s as there’s only so much Chad he can put up with over an extended period of time. One day he’ll fathom how Jared copes. So far, Jensen’s theory is that Jared’s many years of exposure to Chad’s habits have built up some kind of tolerance to him. And he’s just not willing to invest such an amount of time into learning how to put up with Chad.

Anyway, it isn’t _that_ that’s the shock. It’s more how _comfortable_ he feels with the domesticity. He’s never lived with a boyfriend before or spent so much time with them continually, never considered doing so. Yet Jared making such an effort when he wakes to make breakfast and coffee when he has an early class, or has promised to meet Chad, and being here when Jensen’s done with work for the day, makes Jensen see just how nice it’d be to have that permanently.

“Bet you wish you could wake up to this every morning.” Jared slides back into his seat so that Jensen can see the smile he flashes to accompany his comment. Jensen studies him for a moment, sure that he’d said something aloud, or that maybe Jared read his mind—a ridiculous notion, yes, but it’s rather spooky to hear his most recent thoughts echoed in Jared’s voice.

“Well, yeah,” he agrees. However, he quickly sobers. A few days spent in each other’s pockets is all well and good, but could they handle living together or drive each other crazy? Furthermore, what’s the etiquette surrounding the event? Is it his job to invite Jared to live with him as he owns the better apartment, sans roommate, or are they meant to find a new place together? He backtracks with a flippant remark to discourage the idea for now because the ins and outs of the situation are giving him a migraine. “But it wouldn’t be fair to make you come here so early every morning, would it? Tell you what, when you stay here, or I’m at your place, you can spoil me with breakfast.”

Jared’s impressive smile falling from his face should have been Jensen’s first clue that perhaps there was something to be read between the lines that he’d completely missed.

*

“You want to maybe relocate this somewhere a little comfier than my couch?” Jensen asks the moment Jared’s lips release his to allow them both to breathe in precious lungfuls of air.

There’s really no space whatsoever for two grown men to be so tangled up in such a cramped area. That, and he’d prefer it if they weren’t making out on the couch like horny teenagers. Partly because it brings to mind memories of the few times he actually made out on his parents couch as a teenager. And the memory of the red, spluttering faces of his parents when they caught him with his hands down the back of Chris Kane’s jeans, and Chris’ hands under his shirt, kissing furiously, is the biggest mood killer ever.

“I’d really love to,” Jared replies, keeping his arms taut as they bracket Jensen’s head to keep his balance. “But I have an early class tomorrow. Actually, I have them all week. I won’t have much time to see you.” He twists his wrist to dart a look at his watch. “In fact, it’s getting late, I should head back.”

When Jared makes to roll off of Jensen, leaving him lonely on the couch, his entire body practically vibrating with need, Jensen tightens his grip on Jared’s hips, hoping the steady lull of his fingers stroking beneath his shirt will convince Jared to stay. “Stay here. Just for a couple of days, I mean. It’s closer to campus than your place. That way we can spend the evenings together. You won’t need to rush home at night and we can still see each other.”

“You sure?” Jared’s head tilts inquisitively.

“You think you’d have time on those early mornings to make me breakfast?” Jensen makes the suggestion to smooth over the awkwardness he knows he created last week, and to show Jared that he has nothing against their mornings together, that he actually likes them a little more than is probably healthy.

He holds his breath when Jared remains quiet, letting it out in a silent rush when he finally replies in a teasing tone, “I suppose I could make time for you.”

He wouldn’t have blamed Jared if he decided to tell Jensen to get lost and make his own damn breakfast.

Jensen kisses Jared soundly on the lips, using the barest hint of tongue to seal their arrangement. “Then, we’ve got a deal, handsome. Now, about relocating this?”

Jared pulls them from their position on the couch, shutting them away behind Jensen’s bedroom door within seconds.

*

Two weeks later, while they’re sitting on the grass, having lunch in-between Jared’s classes, Jensen has to ask what has Jared so glum.

So when he gets the miserable reply of: “Chad’s given up on the whole abstinence-until-Sophia-dates-him thing and there have been scores of girls in and out of the apartment for the past few days. Said he’s making up for lost time. Having what sounds like a porn movie on in the background all the time is kind of making it hard to sleep. And I have so many papers to write,” what else can he do but open his home to Jared again?

For the next five days they slip back into the routine they established when Jared stayed two weeks ago. As the time progresses he notices that, despite Jared mentioning a ton of work to catch up on, he doesn’t get a whole lot done. Actually, when he comes to think about it, he hasn’t so much as seen Jared _look_ at a book since he arrived with a week’s worth of necessities in a duffle bag. His laptop hasn’t moved from where Jared abandoned it on the kitchen table either.

Rather than spending his time on schoolwork, Jared finds other ways for them to occupy the time.

One night for instance, Jensen gets home a little later than usual to find that Jared has cooked them dinner—nothing fancy, just a batch of mouth-watering lasagne and a baked loaf of store-bought garlic bread. The kitchen looks like an absolute bombsite, and the scribbled-on notebook page Jensen later spies by the phone tells him that Jared likely spent half the time getting step-by-step help from his mom, but none of that matters because it was all _Jared_ , and it’s perfect to come home to.

That evening he stands at the foot of the bed for such an extended period of time that it could most likely be considered creepy. However, it takes him that long to figure out what is so captivating about Jared fast asleep when he’s witnessed the sight on so many previous occasions. And when he does figure it out, he feels like an idiot for not doing so sooner.

Jared has stayed plenty of times, spent so much time in Jensen's bed that he should be completely used to the sight by now. And all those other times, it's looked exactly like that: Jared sleeping awkwardly in a bed he wasn't accustomed to, trying very hard to keep his long limbs in check so as not to disturb the way Jensen usually slept.

Now, the difference is overwhelmingly obvious: Jared's comfortable here, belonging wholly—arms and legs flung in all directions across the bed. One arm is curled around the pillow his face is pushed into, while the other is gradually seeking out the space Jensen's body should occupy. His legs are resting in such a way that drags far too much of the comforter over to Jared's side, stealing it from Jensen in the process and ignoring all the proper etiquette of sharing a bed.

Jared's _side_.

Surely Jared having a side—at least in Jensen's mind—has to mean something significant.

He shakes himself out of his musings, blaming it on drinking too much wine with dinner. The alcohol has obviously gone to his head for him to be reading too much into how Jared’s _sleeping_ , merely making him see signs that perhaps Jared wants the same thing he does.

It’s ridiculous, and Jensen does his best to put the thought out of his mind the second he switches off the lamp and the room is plunged into darkness.

*

“Jen?” Jared says, thoughtfully licking a swipe of pink frosting from his thumb, “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Anything, Jared, you know that.”

“There’s this guy in my class. He had some time off, some kind of family trouble, and he fell behind. I offered to help, and now he’s everywhere. Last night he was sitting outside my apartment waiting for me.”

Jensen freezes at that. He steps away from the counter, wipes his hand on the towel hanging from his shoulder and stands next to Jared so that their bodies are touching. He knows the contact will keep Jared from letting his emotions overwhelm him, and he feels his own body relax the tiniest amount when Jared leans into the touch, soaking up the solidarity that Jensen offers. “What happened?”

“Nothing. He just wanted to talk, ask me out.” Jensen sees red at that last muttered part, experiences the tiniest spark of irrational jealousy until Jared reassures him of what—deep down—he already knew. “I said no, obviously, but he’s kind of persistent. You mind me crashing at yours until he gets the hint? I’d talk to him, but I don’t want any drama with so much work to do.”

“You want _me_ to have a chat with him, Jay?” Jared may not want the drama, but it sounds like this guy has no such qualms. Jensen has no problem telling the guy to take a hike on Jared’s behalf.

“What?” Jared looks somewhat stricken. Jensen attributes that to his new clingy friend, and puts the expression out of mind just as quickly as Jared wipes it from his face, schools his features to something a little less stressed. “Oh, no. He’ll get the picture soon enough. A few days should be fine.”

“Whatever you need, Jared. But if this guy does anything—”

“My knight in shining armor will rescue me valiantly, defending my honor like the hero he is?” Jared teases good-naturedly, bumping his hip to Jensen’s.

“Well, I was gonna say that I’d kick his ass, but we’ll go with yours. Sounds far more impressive.” Pushing away from the counter, he rubs his palms together. “So, back to the matter at hand... Are you going to stop eating the frosting and help me decorate these cakes? I told Katie she’d have them before the kids arrive for the party this afternoon.”

“Sure. After I do one tiny thing.” Jared dips his finger in the bowl of frosting and poises it in front of Jensen’s face. Never has a single digit colored in pink looked quite so menacing.

“Jared, don’t you dare,” he warns, slowly beginning to back away with his palms turned upward in the universal gesture of surrender.

Blatantly ignoring his warning, Jared closes the distance between them in two or three steps. With Jensen cornered he drags his finger tip across Jensen’s cheek, smearing the pink frosting right to the corner of his lips. Swooping forward, he traces the same path with his tongue, lingering at Jensen’s mouth with a sweetly flavoured kiss. “Tasty,” he remarks, eyes bright. “Do we really have to waste this on a bunch of hyperactive six year olds? Can’t we keep it?”

“Yeah, of course.” Jared looks surprised at the quick reply, and Jensen can see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to figure out if he’s being serious. Jensen fishes his cell from the back pocket of his jeans, searches through his contacts until KATIE. C and the accompanying picture fill the screen and holds it out to Jared. “But you tell Katie and all those adorable kids waiting for these cupcakes that they aren’t going to get them because you want to put the frosting elsewhere and do unspeakable things to your boyfriend.”

For a moment Jared appears to seriously contemplate it, even going as far as grasping the top of Jensen’s cell. He withdraws his hand immediately, and Jensen sees the moment the thought of those kids going without takes priority over what Jared wants. Still, he lets out a dramatic sigh and adopts a tone that tells of prolonged suffering. “Spoilsport.”

Tucking his cell away, Jensen pulls Jared in for a compensatory kiss. “Aren’t I just?”

*

“So, how’s your friend?” Jensen asks a few days later when they’re both curled up on the couch, watching re-runs of some supernatural TV show that Jensen finds vaguely entertaining—mostly because the younger brother is great eye candy and the car is one he’d kill to drive—and sharing a bowl of popcorn. He’d freaked out internally when they first got comfy because he realised that he and Jared were one relaxing night in with take-out food and a few beers away from being classed as a married old couple, and mocked accordingly by their friends.

It passed quickly though. Mild panics about Jared and himself seem to be doing that a lot lately, likely due to the fact that the idea of having Jared around all the time is far too enticing to pass up. All he has to do now is share the idea _with_ Jared.

He uses the word _friend_ loosely because the guy’s about as far from the friend end of the spectrum as a person can get, and Jensen would love nothing more than to smack the moron and tell him to back off. A helping hand does not mean, “ _Hey, come and constantly hit on me even when I tell you to get lost_.”

Jared tears his gaze from the screen. Considering the amount of whining he did when Jensen left the TV on this channel, he seems thoroughly engrossed now, even going as far as shushing Jensen earlier when he’d asked if Jared wanted more beer. And it hadn’t been a soft shushing either; no, he’d hissed the sound so loudly that it managed to scare Beetle into fleeing from the room. She’ll have forgiven Jared by morning anyway, and cosy back up to him like nothing happened.

“Friend?”

“Yeah, your clingy classmate.”

“Oh. Right. _Him_. Yeah, I think that he got the picture.”

“It’s safe for you to go home, then? You aren’t gonna find him on your bed or smelling your shirts?” God, he better not; Jensen would definitely lose it then.

“It’s fine,” Jared assures. The tone is a little short though, like Jared’s snapping at him for caring. Jensen looks at him oddly, and Jared softens his voice. “I’ll er— I’m gonna head back tomorrow. Get out from under your feet.”

Feeling like an ass, Jensen rests a hand on the first part of Jared’s body he comes in to contact with—which happens to be a sweat-pant covered thigh—and squeezes once. All he seems to do lately is make Jared think that he’s unwelcome when the opposite is true. He’s just a little scared to share that fact with Jared; for all he knows Jared is perfectly content with the amount of time they spend together and any more is too much.

“I didn’t mean that you were a hassle staying here. Just want you to feel safe in your own home.”

“I know, and I appreciate it,” Jared replies warmly—a definite improvement to the way he spoke moments ago. He covers Jensen’s hand with his own, thumb lightly grazing his skin. It feels almost like an apology, like Jared’s smoothing the word _sorry_ repeatedly into Jensen’s flesh with each swipe. What he has to apologize for is beyond Jensen. “Listen, I’m going to turn in. It’s been a long day.”

Indicating the TV with a vague wave of his other arm, Jensen says, “You don’t want to see the last ten minutes of this? They haven’t even saved the day yet.” At least he figures they’re going to save the day. It’d be kind of pathetic if the good guys died, surely.

Jared rises from the couch with far more grace than Jensen could manage after sitting in the same position for so long. Jensen watches as Jared flexes his arms to work out the kinks, then rolls his shoulders. “Maybe another time.”

“Okay. I’ll be in soon.” As soon as his show is done, and these painful tingles disappear from his feet so that he can stand without falling right back down.

“Sure.” A quick kiss is pressed to Jensen’s lips, but Jared moves away too fast for Jensen to reciprocate in a suitable manner. A brief caress of Jensen’s jaw-line follows, and Jared heads for bed. “Night, Jen.”

“Goodnight, Jay.”

After Jared’s departure, Jensen doesn’t pay much attention to the show’s climax. The brothers save the day, naturally, but Jensen has no clue how. Instead, he puzzles over what has Jared so down all of a sudden. He thinks hard long past the rolling of the credits, while he locks the door and while he shuts all the lights off.

By the time he slides into bed beside Jared—who immediately moves as close as physically possible when he whispers a soft _love you_ into the darkness—he’s no closer to figuring the whole thing out.

*

“Rats?” Jensen exclaims in response to Jared’s latest predicament.

He stopped by the shop ten minutes ago looking like he’d just learned that Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny were all a lie. Which, knowing Jared, had every possibility. Hunched over dejectedly and picking half-heartedly at his muffin, he’d asked to stay at Jensen’s for a few days, quickly explaining why. Rats were apparently staging some sort of coup in his apartment, likely drawn there by the mess Chad couldn’t help but leave, and they had been asked by their building manager to vacate while he got rid of them.

The woman sat at the counter a stool away from Jared stares at Jensen. Her mouth hangs open and she tentatively lowers her forkful of pie to her plate. He stares back as he tries to engage his brain to tell her that he isn’t talking about this place, that there’s no need for her to draw her jacket up and around her shoulders as she is and inch quietly out of the door.

He’s saved when Sophia returns from the storeroom with fresh napkins in her hands, and rolls her eyes at the woman. “Easy, lady, he doesn’t mean here. We passed our health inspection with flying colors. Though if we hadn’t, do you really think that we’d announce to everyone that we had those furry critters running rampant?” The woman shakes her head. Sophia reaches for the coffee pot. “Good. Coffee refill?”

Making a mental note to refresh Sophia’s knowledge about customer service, he gives Jared his full attention, this time keeping his voice low. Another scared customer is something he doesn’t need to deal with. “Rats, really?”

“Yeah, really huge ones.” Jared pushes his muffin away, too grossed out to eat any more. “I got out of the shower and there was one just sitting there, watching me,” he shivers bodily. “I don’t like an audience when I shower.”

Jensen arches an eyebrow, lets his lips curve into a lascivious smile. “You don’t seem to mind _my_ attention when you’re showering.”

“My hot, naked and wet boyfriend is one thing. But a nasty rodent? Not really my idea of fun, Jensen.”

“Sure, Jay, you can stay,” shaking his head, Jensen sighs, “God, with all the disasters lately, it’d be so much easier if you just moved in.”

Jared mutters something unintelligible under his breath as Jensen heads around the counter and out of ear shot to clear a table’s dirty, used dishes.

“Where’s Chad staying anyway?” He collects the dirty plates, stacks the empty glasses on top, and heads back carefully. Despite his concentration, a scrunched up napkin still skitters over the plate’s edge, dropping carelessly to the floor where it rolls under a table. As he stoops to pick it up Jared wipes a look of mild panic from his face.

“Uh, with Sophia?”

“Sophia? She let Chad stay? Guess she doesn’t know about him working his way through all the female occupants in your building, huh?” Jensen whispers in his ear when he wanders by so as not to alert their friend to their gossip.

“You know Sophia. Heart of gold, really.”

They share a sceptic look as she grabs a straw from a school kid’s mouth, practically choking him in her effort to stop him from launching spit balls at his friend across the table and hisses a low, “Do that again, and I’m gonna cram you into a straw, pal.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jensen says dubiously, “Heart of gold. I’m going to put these in the kitchen. Behave yourself for five minutes, okay? No scaring away the clientele with your rat stories.”

They share a brief kiss—nothing the shop’s regulars haven’t seen a thousand times—and Jensen heads for the kitchen. Before disappearing completely, he sees Jared slurp the last of his milkshake, clearly enjoying the extra chocolate he got heaped into the mix out of sympathy, and then watches curiously as he scrambles from his stool to talk with Sophia.

 _Most likely going to talk her into not suffocating Chad while he sleeps_ , Jensen thinks with a chuckle. Not that he’d blame the girl at all. A court of law probably wouldn’t either.

*

Jensen suppresses yet another yawn as he leans against the door jamb, waiting impatiently for Sophia to answer. He’d called on the way over to wake her up and make sure she was at least halfway ready by the time he arrived. She’d answered and promised she would be. He thinks anyway, she hadn’t used so many words, and he couldn’t really tell the difference between curses and sleepy half noises. There was definitely a _Go to hell_ and a _You can really be an ass sometimes_ in there somewhere, so Jensen had stopped paying proper attention.

The sounds of someone moving around inside draw closer to the door; Jensen taps his foot intolerantly and risks another glance at his watch. If he’s late for these deliveries today, his supplier is likely to bust a vein yelling at him about it. And then he’ll send Jensen the same crap he sends everyone else. And the customers of _Jenny-Beans_ have come to expect and appreciate the finer quality of certain things.

When the door opens in answer to his knocking, the sight that greets him is not a pretty one. He probably should have expected her in this state after their exchange earlier. The Sophia he sees is one in complete odds to the well-groomed, not-a-hair-out-of-place one he’s used to. Her ponytail has escaped in several places from the elastic she pulled it into overnight, many of the fine strands standing in strange tufts that peek out from under the sleep mask perched atop her head. The eyeliner she wore yesterday is little more than deathly black smudges, and Jensen fully understands the term _panda eyes_. Sophia’s pyjamas are a surprise, too, consisting of a pair of odd socks—one purple, one a hideous green—and an oversized sweatshirt with the design long since faded in the wash.

Jensen is forced to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent what promises to be a large grin at her expense. He thought _he_ looked bad when he woke up.

Sophia grunts a greeting at him—one very similar to the one received when he called, coincidentally—and leaves the door open for him to let himself in.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Jensen responds as cheerily as possible, shutting the door behind him. He totally sees the kick Jared gets out of being the more coherent side of the conversation in the morning, especially when he watches Sophia retrieve her coffee from the table, failing three times in her lethargy to actually take a decent sip.

“Ugh, why did I have to be up so early? My shift starts at twelve. It’s seven-thirty in the goddamn morning, Jensen.”

Funny, he’d said something along those lines earlier when the alarm clock had screamed and wailed for him to wake up; although his hurt had been soothed somewhat by Jared steadily pressing wet, open mouthed kisses down his chest, before bringing him to orgasm with a clever mix of hands and tongue. It’s the kind of morning routine that Jensen could really get on board with having on a more permanent basis—a routine that allows for long breakfasts or really lazy morning sex that doesn’t end with either of them rushing home to grab a change of clothes or textbooks for the day.

“I need a hand getting the shop open this morning. I have a few deliveries coming in.”

“And your right-hand man can’t do it because...?”

“Alexis decided to dump Evie on his doorstep last night. She had a meeting or a date—one of the two—and Milo has to get her to school this morning,”

“Really? God, I hate that woman. What did Milo ever see in her?” Remaining quiet, Jensen shrugs. He isn’t exactly a fan of Milo’s ex either, but that’s all in the past now—Milo is over her completely, only dealing with her because of their daughter and counting the days until he doesn’t have to put up with her any longer.

“Don’t worry, Jensen, I won’t ask you to speak out of turn,” Sophia says, understanding. Understanding that sours when she speaks once more. “So you kindly picked little ol’ me to wake up at such a charming hour of the morning to help you lug around crap? God, boss, thank you so much. Whatever can I do to repay your thoughtfulness?”

“Boy, you really aren’t a morning person, are you?”

“Like you can talk,” scoffs Sophia. “I’ve heard stories about your delightful personality in the morning.”

“I’m a joy in the morning, just ask Jared.”

She nearly chokes on her coffee through laughing. “Where do you think I heard the stories? Jared obviously doesn’t mind too much though. He’s at your place more than he is at home lately.”

“Yeah, I guess. Seems like every other week there’s something happening at his. Can’t exactly let him go homeless while it blows over, can I?”

“That’s all this is?”

“What?”

“You’re just Jared’s free place to crash? There’s no other reason?”

“What other reason would there be?” The ignorance is feigned so convincingly that he almost believes it himself. _Almost_.

Sophia simply shakes her head, and finishes her coffee.

He sits down heavily on her couch, lifting his body up as soon as it hits the cushion to retrieve whatever had dug sharply into his thigh. Immediately, he casts the remote aside. “Is it going to take you long to make yourself half-way decent to face other people?”

“Something wrong with the way I look?” One hand flies to her hip, eyebrow arching expectantly, as she waits for a reply.

“No. Just never imagined you wearing a ratty old sweater to bed.”

“You spend a lot of time imagining what your friends wear to bed, Ackles?”

“Of course not. I’m surprised, that’s all. You always seem so...” Jensen trails off as he searches for the right word. It’s made rather difficult by the stern glare Sophia is sending his way, her eyes daring him to misstep and stumble over the wrong choice so she can vent some more of her early-morning induced rage.

 _Jensen, just shut the hell up. You’re only digging yourself in deeper_.

Bored of waiting, she snaps regardless, “Look, I'm not some bimbo actress from one of those cringe inducing teenage dramas that we know Chad secretly loves. I don't roll out of bed looking daisy fresh with perfect hair, and into some trashy outfit that some old guy thinks is sexy. It takes work, okay?” Jensen nods agreeably. “And I like being comfortable in bed, hence the sweater. Now, sit there and be quiet while I get ready if you want me to help you out.”

“How about I pay you extra and you pretend that you’re not incredibly pissed at me for dragging you from your beauty sleep?”

Her anger seems to evaporate at that. She smiles widely. “Give me half an hour.”

*

“I thought you hated video games?” Milo comments as Jensen comes back into the den with a steaming mug of coffee held tightly in each hand. He’s forced to detour the few feet from his couch to the coffee table when he notices Milo’s hands are currently occupied giving Beetle a thorough petting. Traitorous fur ball.

“I do, they drive me crazy.” It’s all he hears about from his nephews—not to mention Jared sometimes—and frankly it’s enough to make him start tearing at his hair when they babble on about them. And Milo should know that. He’s always right there rolling his eyes along with Jensen when Jared and Chad happen to start debating game strategies over lukewarm coffee and half eaten cookies. “Why do you ask?”

“I just find it odd that you have an Xbox hooked up to your TV set, and a pile of games where your books used to be.”

“Well, Jared’s been here a lot lately,” says Jensen indifferently. He ignores the small niggle in the back of his mind that chastises him for not noticing his books move from the floor to...wherever Jared put them. “Maybe he brought it here to keep it away from Chad. You’ve obviously never heard how he blew up their stereo when Jared visited his folks? Chad and appliances don’t mix well.”

“And the pink shirts hanging out of your laundry basket? Never really thought that was your color.”

“He left behind a couple of shirts, I said I’d wash them—what’s the big deal?”

Jensen sets the mugs down on the table, cursing when he spills one. Luckily, the liquid misses the piled-up bills and only slightly stains the edge of a note Jared left for him yesterday. Strangely enough, he’s relieved that the coffee didn’t destroy the note, but he can’t figure out the reason. It’s nothing more than a stupid piece of paper of back-and-forth between him and Jared.

 _ **Someone** used all the milk on their Lucky Charms this morning. Gone to get more. x x_

To which Jensen had written: _That was **you** , dork!_ And although he’d underlined the word dork once or twice, he also drew a small smiley face to take the edge off the slight reprimand.

“If you weren’t so scared of dating the same person for longer than a week, then it might happen to you, you know.”

“My issues caused by my ex aside—follow me.” Milo gently pushes Beetle from her spot in his lap so that he can stand unhindered and then beckons Jensen to follow with his index finger.

Shrugging, Jensen obliges and trails after his friend. He heads towards the bathroom to find Milo standing in the room’s centre, arms crossed over his chest. A quick scan of the room leaves Jensen confused about Milo’s point. Everything appears to be in place, each item left precisely where it was this morning: brand new soap by the sink because the old one crumbled into useless pieces, the shower curtain pulled right back to hide the rip from when he and Jared got a bit enthusiastic when sharing a shower month ago, and a towel slung over the bathtub’s side.

He crosses his own arms. “What am I meant to be seeing, Milo?”

“Is that your fruity shampoo on the shelf?”

True enough, there’s a bottle he doesn’t remember buying nestled on the shelf by the shower head, right at home amongst his own shower gel and shampoo. And even if he _did_ simply forget about picking it up, like Milo said—it looks way too fruity and fancy to be for him. Exotic extracts are Jared’s thing. “No.”

Nodding to himself, Milo exits the bathroom. He tugs on Jensen’s shirt sleeve to pull him along also, like an eager child leading his parent to the toy aisle.

Their next destination is Jensen’s—and at the moment, Jared’s—bedroom. He leads them to the closet where he yanks open the door, gesturing inside. “Are they your flip-flops in the bottom of your closet? Your obnoxious shirts?”

Jensen shakes his head. His shirts are as plain as he can buy them, and his shoe collection doesn’t extend beyond sneakers and a pair of ancient cowboy boots that he loves too much to throw out.

Again, Milo jerks his head in that utterly infuriating self-satisfied nod, before jutting his chin to the small desk in the room’s corner. “Your Journalism textbooks on the desk?”

“No. Like I said, Jared’s been—”

“Been here a lot, I know. Jensen, are you really that stupid? Do you not realize what’s been going on?”

“No.” Jensen wonders briefly if that word is beginning to bug Milo. It definitely is him. But really, he hasn’t got a clue what he’s trying to get at. So what if a few of Jared’s things are here? He’s sure that he has a few things at Jared’s, too. There’s one or two books missing from his shelf, and it’s been a while since he last saw his favourite green sweater. Isn’t that what couples do?

Milo pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath, and Jensen knows he’s trying really hard to not start muttering under his breath in Italian as he tends to do when stressed. “Jesus, it’s like a year ago all over again.”

Jensen casts his mind back to that point in time, trying to draw parallels between now and then. Almost a year ago Jared had been trying hard to get Jensen to notice him, and everyone realized long before Jensen had. He frowns, still confused as to what the hell Milo’s talking about. “Okay, that long ago Jared was chasing after me. What does that have to do with— Oh.”

He manages to flop down onto the edge of his bed as realization hits him. And boy, does it hit him hard and right between the eyes. Milo smirks and joins him on the bed. Jostling Jensen’s shoulder with his own, he says, “Yeah, _oh_.”

“You mean the whole time Jared’s been hinting that he wants us to move in together?”

Eyes wide, Milo chuckles. “Hinting? Jensen, he’s been hitting you over the head with it. Honestly, the rats, clingy classmates, and an especially oversexed Chad didn’t seem a little like overkill to you?”

Jensen nods absently. Now that Jared’s intention is out in the open, he finds it baffling that he didn’t see it. Jared’s done nothing but drop hints the size of cartoon anvils and Jensen’s missed them all, too busy trying to hide that he wanted it himself. It’s a good job that their friends are more in tune with something other than themselves.

“Now, would you _please_ decide if you want your Sasquatch to live with you in domestic bliss on a more long-term basis and go talk to him before he resorts to something drastic?”

Jensen pales at that. “Drastic?”

“He hasn’t quite progressed to burning his building down, but I’m sure he’s getting there.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to him when he gets home. I’ll have figured out what to say by then.”

“Seems to me like you’ve already done that, Jensen,” Milo tells him, patting his leg comfortingly. He climbs to his feet. “Come on. We have coffee to drink; I’ve got to pick Evie up in an hour. You can tell Jared the good news when he gets here.”

Milo grins at him, and Jensen can’t help but return it, glad beyond all relief that he had his over-due epiphany while he was around. If it had been anyone else—Sophia, for example, would have glared at him somewhat disparagingly before tossing some cutting remark about the ignorance of men over her shoulder—he probably would have freaked out completely rather than warm up to the possibilities of what Jared wanted.

Still smiling faintly, Jensen follows Milo once more.

*

When Jared gets back—home?—from his classes, Milo has been gone for almost an hour and Jensen is sat cross legged on the couch, laptop on his legs and Beetle glaring at him for stealing her seat. Fingertips trail lightly across the back of his neck as Jared makes his way around the couch to sit down beside Jensen. He dumps his bag on the floor and flops down with a sigh.

Jensen shuts the laptop and rests his head on the couch back to face Jared. “Rough day?”

“The roughest.” Jared reaches out to brush his knuckles over Jensen’s cheek. “How about you?”

“Had coffee with Milo, he left not too long ago.”

He watches as Jared kicks off his sneakers so they lay haphazardly on the floor, pulling his legs up and underneath him. “Talk about anything interesting?”

“It’s Evie’s birthday soon, we’re going to throw her a little party at the cafe.”

“We’ll have to get her a present then.” He frowns. “What do six-year-old girls like?”

What Jensen means to say isn’t what comes out. Instead of continuing with their mindless chatter and allowing the issue to once more be swept under the rug, Jensen says, “We discussed you, too.”

Jared sits up, no longer melting bonelessly into the comfort of the couch. “Me?”

“Yes.” Chuckling humourlessly, Jensen says, “Well, it wasn’t so much a discussion as Milo opening my eyes to what you’ve been doing this past month.”

“Busted, huh?” Jared asks sheepishly, ducking his head a little.

“Look, I get why you did this.” He really does. From the second Milo clued him in all he’d done was think about the whole thing, and he’d come to one conclusion: both he and Jared are ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about communicating with each other about everyday stuff like this. “I was too scared to bring this up properly as well. But, I don’t know, it seems like a lot of lies for something we both want.”

The moment he uses the word _lies_ he wants to take it back because that’s _not_ what he means at all. He knows that Jared wasn’t being purposefully deceitful or trying to cause pain.

Jared takes no offence. He shuffles closer to Jensen and removes the laptop, setting it on the table. “I know it seems that way, but honestly, Jen, they weren’t lies. Okay, the infestation of rats was more _one_ rat that had escaped from a kid a few apartments down. And Chad’s stream of girls was constant moping that Sophia hated his guts and wishing he could get over her, but they weren’t lies. I think that the universe decided that all the bad luck I was getting could be used to our advantage. Because God knows my stuff slowly finding its way here, and my reluctance to go home any time I was with you weren’t getting us anywhere.”

“I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“We’re okay then?” Jared slides a palm around the back of Jensen’s neck, his fingers once more trailing against the warm flesh there.

With a smile pulling familiarly at his mouth, Jensen leans into the touch. “I’d say we’re okay.”

“So?”

“So, what?”

“Am I packing the rest of my things?”

No time to think and no time to hesitate, Jensen replies plainly, “You bet your ass you are.”

*

“Hey, Jay?”

“Hmm?” Jared replies, voice fuzzy as sleep creeps up on him.

They’re both lying in bed—their bed now, _theirs_ —exhausted from a long day of ferrying boxes up and down endless flights of stairs and putting things away—made even more tiring by the small disagreements throughout the day over whose TV to relegate to the bedroom and where Jared was going to put what seemed like every movie ever made, and did Jensen really need _all_ of his books out on the shelves.

And following all that work, Jared had declared that finishing the half-empty bottle of wine in Jensen’s fridge wasn’t enough to celebrate such a big step in their relationship. Despite his fatigue, Jensen hadn’t put up too much protest when Jared began to rid them of their sweaty t-shirts and grubby jeans, directing them toward _their_ bedroom. Nor did he complain when Jared used his body to show him just how grateful he was that they were finally in a place they both wanted to be so badly.

In the morning his body will hate him for it, but right now he’s just too damn blissed out to care at all.

“Next time you want us to take another step in our relationship, just tell me, okay? No more games.”

“Okay.” He shifts so that they’re both lying on their sides, face-to-face, with the comforter draped across their bare hips. “But I hate to tell you, Jen, there’s only one more step for us.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yup. Tying the knot.”

Jensen rolls his eyes, although Jared likely can’t make it out in the dark. “Jared.”

Inching closer, Jared rests his head beside Jensen’s on his pillow. He extends his arm to trail fingertips gently over Jensen’s collar bone, up the line of his throat, until his palm cups his cheek. “Can I ask you something? Something _really_ big.”

“Jared...”

Jared presses a finger to his lips to shush him. Jensen stills at the touch, and tries not to hyperventilate. They’ve only just unpacked Jared’s final box, he can’t seriously be suggesting something else so important.

Jared smirks, removes his finger and offers Jensen a brief reprieve from fretting about his next question by kissing him with such intensity that his head spins. It leaves him so dizzy he thinks he may just agree to whatever Jared asks. Anything at all. Except maybe committing a felony because Jensen knows he’s not cut out for a life of crime.

“Jen?” Jensen hardly dares to breathe. His entire body is taut and tense, spine pulled so straight he fears it might snap. “You want pancakes or eggs for breakfast?”

*


End file.
